


when mourning breaks (my heart)

by DenaCeleste



Series: when mourning comes [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erica Reyes - Freeform, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Mourning, Multi, No Sex, Some Fluff, Werewolf Rituals, angsty, brief appearances of pack, but emotional intimacy, mentions of: boyd isaac peter allison, sour skittles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste/pseuds/DenaCeleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott, Derek, and the pack help Stiles mourn this loss as only a pack of werewolves can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when mourning breaks (my heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrospace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrospace/gifts), [Mysenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/gifts).



> This is for astrospace, for requesting a sequel. And for Mysenia, who encouraged me with the idea for a werewolf-specific ritual for lost packmates in a Google Docs chat.
> 
> As always, unbetaed. You don't *have* to read the first one, but I recommend it.
> 
> Added note: Okay, since apparently there are some very sick people in this world, I'm turning anon notes off this and ~~removing the Sciles tag. Even though I think it fits.*shrugs*~~ Fuck the hater(s), Sciles tag is back because it fits in this V-poly dynamic (so does Sterek).
> 
> **Unless otherwise stated, all works are unbetaed. Please no public concrit. Please keep comments positive. Any private concrit can be directed to my Tumblr ask box.**

He stared as they lowered the casket into the open grave next to his mother’s. His chest ached, but it still didn’t feel real. His mind flashed back to bloody blond hair, blank blue eyes, before a warm hand squeezed the back of his neck.

Derek pressed against his right side, his hand on the small of Stiles’ back. Scott hung on his left side and slid his arm around Stiles’ neck. Between the two of them, they cocooned him with comfort and love. He should’ve felt warm, but he didn’t.

He froze there as the pastor got up to speak, then tuned him out. There were so many people, mostly from the hospital and sheriff's office, but they all came. Melissa stood nearby with tears trickling onto her dress, leaving wet splotches on her dark jacket.

It should’ve been raining. Dreary. Like nothing would ever be good again. Bright sunshine was a fucking lie, how dare the sun shine when his Dad-when he was-was.

“Does he want to say anything?” “He’s the son, right?” “Why isn’t he even crying? Isn’t he sad?” “Is he okay? He doesn’t look so good.”

Words, some ruder than others, he recognized, and both Derek and Scott growled as one. Stiles didn’t give a shit. He just couldn’t care about...anything. At all. A hole of emptiness throbbed where his heart once ticked away.

Everything happened around him. The minutes crawled by, but the people moved like lightning around him. One second there, the next second gone. They dropped roses or something onto the casket. Like roses were going to do his Dad much good in there.

“I can’t do this. I can’t. He’s. He’s in there. And I can’t.” Words poured from his mouth, but he couldn’t get the breath back to replace them. His heart rammed against his sternum with each beat, fast, fast, faster. He gasped and scrabbled at his chest and throat. He was dying too. Here. With his Dad. How appropriate. Maybe he could just be rolled right in there with him.

“Stiles, breathe!” Derek shouted next to him and smacked him on the back. Gently, for him, once, twice, then the third time his throat opened up again while Scott held him up and murmured things, comforting words that Stiles couldn’t understand anymore with the black spots dancing in his eyes.

Scott said things, but an ocean of blood pounded in his ears. Whatever he said, he and Derek both led Stiles away, away from the ground and his Dad and the endless absence of the last of his family being buried in the dirt.

:: :: :: :: ::

Hours passed, days, who knows, but it’s probably only hours because neither of his guys left him alone. Not even to pee. Speaking of pee, he had to go, but he didn’t want to move.

“Fucking bladder. Making me function and stuff,” he complained into someone’s chest. Scott? Probably Scott, too smooth to be Derek. He moved, a little, then groaned because his joints ached, really, his whole body hurt.

He got up anyway, put one foot in front of the other. Turned into the large bathroom that all three of them could fit into with ease and drained the lizard. He wandered back into the room and there they were, sprawled out in the dim evening light. Derek raised up on an elbow and squinted at him.

Stiles cleared his throat. “How. How do werewolves say goodbye?” His voice sounded fragile even to himself.

Derek frowned, but pushed himself into a sitting position and patted the bed. Stiles crawled up the middle and rested against Derek’s side. Scott scooted closer and hooked his chin on Stiles’ hip, his favorite spot.

“We gather on our land, and then we call to the one who is lost. We call and wait for a response. Then we call to the moon, and ask her to help them find their way home. That’s where wolves go when we die. Our spirits run to the moon.” Derek rubbed a hand up and down his back, and Stiles kissed his chest, right next to his nipple.

“I wanna do that. I know--Dad was human. But I’m pack, so he was too. Wasn’t he?” He glanced up, then down, not sure who would answer.

“Well, duh. Of course he was, so’s my mom. Pack is family, family is pack. Except for assholes like Rafael, but he doesn’t count as family,” Scott clarified.

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, true. Okay. When?”

“Full moon’s the best night. Brightest night. So, day after tomorrow.” Derek nuzzled his head, Scott stroked his thigh, and then his stomach growled.

“I guess we could all use some food. C’mon.” Scott sat up and pulled on some pants. He grabbed Stiles by the wrist and pulled him up. Derek rolled off the bed without assistance and also added clothing to his naked form.

Together they got Stiles into boxers and a shirt before they wandered out to the kitchen.

Scott curled up in a chair and drew Stiles down on top of him while Derek got out the makings for pancakes. His favorite. He tucked his head against Scott’s neck and nuzzled there until dinner was ready.

“C’mon babe, you have to eat. Derek made your favorite, and then we can watch those movies you keep bugging me about.” Scott ran his nails up and down Stiles’ spine until he shivered.

Stiles pulled away and raised a brow. “Really? Now you’ll watch Star Wars?”

Scott shrugged. “You should be able to relax, and you like them.”

He blew out a hard breath. “Okay, fine.” He turned and stared at the pile of pancakes. “Dude, Derek, how much do you think I can eat right now?”

Derek shrugged and shoved a pancake into his own mouth.

:: :: :: :: ::

Two nights later the moon shone through the trees around them. Derek led because he knew what was supposed to happen, and the three of them trooped out to a large clearing.

They stood in the middle, and over the next few minutes the rest of the pack appeared to ring around them. Boyd, Isaac, Erica, Peter, even Allison was there in support.

Derek held his hands up toward the moon, until they silvered beneath its light. “Our pack member is lost and alone, and we must call to him to bring him home.” He leaned back, lifted his face to the sky, and howled, the hopeful sound traveling far into the woods. Each member of the pack joined in, one voice at a time, until only Stiles was left.

His skin tingled, his eyes burned, and his breath came in shallow gasps. But he looked into the sky and howled for his father.

When the howls quieted down, Derek narrated again. “We wait to hear if he returns our call. Our lost pack member must have heard howls so powerful.”

They stood in silence, heads cocked, listening. All they heard was the rustle of trees in the wind.

“Our pack member is lost, alone. He didn’t hear our cries, our calls to bring him home. We must try once more, to call to him again, for pack is family without end.” Once again haunting, desperate bays filled the night air. Tears drip down Stiles’ face, but he held his howl as steady as he could.

Again they waited, silent but for Stiles’ hitching sobs. Scott held him by the shoulders, pressed his warm front to Stiles’ back.

Derek turned to meet Stiles’ gaze. “Our cries go unheeded. Our pack member is gone. We must guide his spirit to run, run for the moon, where all pack goes. We must mourn our lost packmate.”

This time his howl was different. It wasn’t hopeful like the first, nor was it desperate as the second. It mourned. It accepted. It bid farewell. Filled to the brim with sadness, that sound punched through Stiles’ heart, took the strength from his legs, and he fell to the ground.

Scott broke his fall, gentled him into a ball on the forest floor. Derek held the howl, held, held, and then it faded. “Our packmate waits for us with the moon. We will all run there at the end of this life, and we will meet with our dead once again.”

It was like a connection had snapped, and the energy broke. Pack swarmed around Stiles, touching him, stroking his hair and his back and wherever they could reach.

A light touch from Peter on his cheek, the softness of Erica’s curls covered his ears, and Boyd’s large hand rested on his back. Isaac carded long fingers through his hair, Scott leaned onto his hip, and Derek. The pack made room so that Derek could lay in front of him and Stiles clasped an arm around him and buried his face against the dark curls that peppered his chest.

“Dad’s gone. He’s really gone. I don’t have any other family left.” Stiles’ voice broke on the last few words.

“I told you before, and I’ll tell you again, you have us. Buddy, babe, you will always have us.” Scott pressed a kiss to the skin that showed where his shirt rucked up.

“Pack is family, Stiles. You’ll never be without it, not if I can help it.” Derek’s voice vibrated into Stiles’ cheek.

“Yeah, we couldn’t do without you. Who’d make us cookies?” Erica piped up, and Stiles snorted.

“Trust you to be irreverent at a fucking funeral, Erica.” He leaned his head back until he looked up at her through the tendrils of her hair.

“Hey, I behaved at the one with other people, I should be allowed to be myself at this one.” Her words may have been coarse, but her eyes glowed with soft affection and sympathy.

“Yeah. Guess it was good only one of us misbehaved at that one.” He craned his head to look down at Scott and at the same time caressed up Derek’s chest to cup his cheek. “Thanks for getting me out of there babes.”

He thumped his head back down. “Can I get up now? I think there are bugs crawling on me, and that’s kinda creepy. I want air conditioning. And maybe alcohol.” The pack retreated one by one until Scott and Derek helped him up with minimal effort. He stretched and then brushed off bugs and who knew what else.

He paused to look at the full moon once more and whispered, “Catch you later Dad.”

Stiles cleared his throat and blinked away tears that stung his eyes. “Okay, who’s carrying me home boys? Because I sure as fuck don’t want to walk that entire way back.”


End file.
